Twisting, writhing,
hanging stretched in the wind,
three sheets, no four,
never felt more,
pain in my wrists
the rope bites deep,
twisting, writhing,
sun beats down
burning skin brown,
drying flesh
into a dirty mesh,
of body and dress,
a crow alights
on the limb above,
cocks head sideways
smiles,
an impressive feat
for one with no lips,
only beak,
sitting patiently
waiting for last breath
to rattle
free of chest,
cawing softly to itself,
happy to wait,
sitting by hands
but safely out of reach...
waiting until eyes
dry open, unblinking
unfocusing,
tongue swollen,
thick, dry, cracked
along with lips
no longer drawn
past breath...